Crime Traveller: Family Business
by EllisHendricks
Summary: Crime Traveller, time-travel, Holly/Slade romance: In trying to help out his wayward brother, Slade and Holly abandon their quiet evening and become entangled in a major criminal operation


**Family Business**

Without looking up from his desk, Mitchell Brace called for the person at the door to enter. A small, wiry man, barely out of his teens, came in, dressed in a shiny leather jacket that was too big for him, and decorated with an excess of gold-effect jewellery.

"So what's the deal with Slade, then?" Brace demanded gruffly, leaning forward over the desk.

"Can't find him, boss," the younger man said, with a nervous lilt in his voice. "He never showed up for the meeting, and he's not answering his phone."

"That little bastard," Brace grimaced. "I should have gone with my instincts with him. He's small-time. The whole thing stunk from the beginning."

"What do you want me to do, Mr Brace?" the young man asked.

Brace sat back for a moment, and turned his face towards the window of his twelfth floor office. The young man shifted from foot to foot, playing with the cuffs of his coat, unsure about what might happen next.

"I don't want you to do anything, Gavin," he said, eventually. "You should continue with the deal as planned. Go and meet Foster, check out the goods, and see if they're worth my money."

"What about Slade?"

"I'll deal with him. You concentrate on getting me a good deal."

Gavin left the office, and Brace turned to his telephone.

"Lynton, is Angelo still down there with you?" he asked and, having heard the answer, added, "I need you both up here. I've got a job that I think is right up your street."

Holly pocketed her keys, dropped her overnight bag in the hallway and pressed the play button on the answering machine. No messages. This wasn't entirely surprising, and even if she had been hoping tohear Slade's voice - which she wasn't - she had only been gone two days. The train had been delayed, the carriage had been full of children on a school trip to London, and she hadn't been able to get a seat until two hours into the journey. All she wanted now was to relax and unwind, possibly with the help of a deep bath and some real food – the last thing she ate was a tired sandwich from the train trolley, and she could still taste the residue. However, she knew that if she wanted real food, it would involve an outing to the supermarket. She opened the fridge and sighed at the inevitability – a block of dubious-looking cheese, a low-fat strawberry yoghurt and a cucumber well on its way to becoming mush. The cupboards weren't much better, but if she could revive a couple of slices of bread then beans on toast was a possibility. This was ridiculous – she could hear her father's voice, urging her to look after herself. That came from the man who was always too busy to eat, and who regularly snacked on German sausage or Dairylea triangles while he was tinkering with his machine.

As she was switching on the kettle, she heard the doorbell ring. She could count the number of people who visited her on one hand, and she instantly recognised the silhouette in the glass of the door.

"Hi," Slade said, smiling, as she opened the door.

"I've just got in from a very long train journey, so I'll warn you now that I'm not time-travelling anywhere this evening," she replied, returning the smile. "I don't care if someone stole the Elgin Marbles or if the Prime Minister has been kidnapped."

"I missed you too," Slade grinned, pushing past her into the flat. It was then that Holly noticed he was trying to conceal something behind his back.

"What's that?" she asked.

"What's what?"

"In the bag. Behind your back."

She was beginning to think she could smell food, but it could just as easily have been her hunger causing olfactory hallucinations. Slade raised his eyes to the ceiling, innocently.

"You didn't…?" she said, hopefully, realising that she wasn't imagining things after all.

"Moroccan chicken tagine with sweet potatoes," he replied, adding, with a casual air: "You're not hungry, are you?"

"Famished."

"Well, there's a tin of spaghetti in the bag too."

"Very funny."

A few minutes later, they were settling down to dinner, sitting side by side on the sofa. Holly opened a bottle of wine, and they settled in to what was becoming a comfortable, familiar routine. Inwardly she acknowledged that she had missed him while she'd been gone, but the implications of those feelings were too daunting to dwell on.

"So, how was the conference?" Slade asked, chewing slowly.

"Oh, you know, the usual. There was a good lecture on heightened serotonin levels in recidivist offenders. And Professor Goldman presented a paper on the projected increased use of DNA databanks in the criminal justice process."

"And who says scientists don't know how to have fun?" Slade grinned. "Was there a toga party afterwards?"

"Actually," Holly replied, taking a sip of wine. "There was a champagne reception and three-course dinner."

"While the rest of us have to make do with a stale sandwich from the catering trolley," he said, shaking his head. "Disgraceful."

Holly was smiling at him, and Slade felt the warm glow of the red wine gradually enveloping his senses. He had missed this. It had only been a couple of days, but he had felt her absence more acutely than he'd imagined. His whole relationship with Holly unsettled him, in the nicest possible way; it was developing beyond his control. To begin with, it had been easy – she liked him and he knew it; he wasn't blind to the signs. He'd felt smug about that for a while, and enjoyed the massage it gave to his ego, but then something happened – he began to feel protective towards Holly, which soon developed into territorialism. Then one day at work, while watching her in a meeting, he began to get chest pains. Thirty-five seemed far too young for a heart attack, and it was only when the pains recurred as he and Holly were having lunch in Giovanni's that he realised that no amount of antacid could help him. He was already too far gone.

"So, did you meet anyone interesting?" he asked Holly, in his most casual tone.

"Interesting?"

"Well, an event like that must be swarming with eligible men, albeit lacking in social skills. It must be the gene pool every woman dreams of."

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Holly said, firing a look at him. "So, what did you get up to while I was away? I notice you haven't broken into my flat in my absence, and you look more or less in one piece – can I assume that there weren't any illicit time-travelling ventures?"

"As if I would!" Slade replied, with mock injury.

Holly raised an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, I've learned my lesson," he added.

"So…dinner…all this…it's not an apology for something?" Holly asked. She knew she was susceptible to Slade's manipulation and half-truths, and she wanted to be absolutely sure of his motives.

"Just thought you might be hungry," he replied, pouring the last of the wine into Holly's waiting glass. "Of course, that was before I found out what they've been feeding you at this conference."

"This is much better," she said, unaware that the words had left her mouth until they were out there. There was a short silence, and she knew she was blushing. She could sense, too, that Slade was smiling.

"Can I assume that has something to do with my dazzling company?"

Holly looked up, and his eyes seemed to be daring her to do something she was far too scared to do.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. The noise made Holly's heart jump; she felt, for a moment, that she'd been caught.

"Expecting someone else?" Slade said, stretching his arm across the back of the sofa. "Professor Goldman, perhaps?"

Holly straightened her skirt and went to answer the door. The only person who really ever came round was already in her living room. When she opened the door, she was faced with a woman she didn't know; a woman in her late fifties and of a similar height to Holly, dressed smartly but with an open, friendly face.

"You must be Holly," the woman said. "Hello."

She held out her hand, which Holly shook, still none the wiser about the woman's identity.

"Oh, we've never met," the woman continued. "But I've heard a lot about you. I'm Sandra, pleased to meet you."

"I'm sorry, I…"

Suddenly, Holly felt Slade at her shoulder.

"Mum?" Slade gasped.

"Jeffrey!" the woman exclaimed.

It was then that the penny dropped, and Holly immediately saw the resemblance between this dark haired, dark eyed woman and the man she worked with.

"Mum, what are you doing here?" Slade asked, still perplexed as to what was going on.

"I just wanted to pay my son a visit," Sandra Slade replied, with a wounded expression that was instantly familiar to Holly.

"You'd better come in, Mrs Slade," Holly said, standing back to let her in. She didn't know which of the three of them felt more confused.

"It's Sandra, please," she replied, heading into the flat. Slade quickly slid himself between his mother and the living room door, and deftly pulled the door closed to conceal what lay within. Holly offered him a grateful look.

"You should have called, Mum," Slade said, herding her into the kitchen.

"I did. And I went over to your flat but you weren't there."

"So…how did you find us?" Holly asked, frowning.

"I got your address from Jack, Jeff's father. I knew he'd been here, and since you two practically live together these days it wasn't too hard to work out where this one might be."

Holly felt her cheeks start to burn, and she looked at Slade, who appeared equally mortified.

"Actually, Mum," he said, pouring a glass of water. "I think Dad might have-"

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Sandra cut in, turning her attention to Holly and ignoring her son. "I wanted to thank you for everything you did to help Jack."

"It was nothing, really," Holly said, distracted and bemused by the situation.

"This is a lovely flat, Holly," she continued, circling the kitchen. "Nice and roomy - big enough for a family."

The sound that the two women heard next was Slade choking, water shooting out of his nose. He swallowed hard and gestured to them that he was okay.

"Mum," he said when he recovered, a warning tone in his voice.

"What?"

"Why are you really here? You never just drop round unannounced. Has something happened with Dad?"

"Your father's fine. We're still trying to work through a few things, you know, making adjustments. It's taking time to get used to having him around again."

"So what is it?" Slade continued. He knew his mother; she was like a patient visiting the doctor – she wouldn't mention the serious problem until her hand was on the door-handle.

There was a silence. Holly looked from mother to son and back again. Sandra Slade was toying with the clasp on her handbag.

"It's Anthony," she said, finally.

Slade sighed, theatrically. He should have known.

"What this time? Did he blow his money on another 'can't fail' enterprise? Or does he need a loan to pay back someone chasing him for debts?"

In the pause that followed, when neither Slade nor his mother spoke, Holly cut in, tentatively. "Who's Anthony?"

"Tony," Slade began. "My brother."

When he looked up at her Holly was wearing that look she always had when he had done something to hurt her.

"You never told me you have a brother," she said, distantly.

"Really?" Sandra said, clearly surprised. "I've got four boys. Jeffrey's my oldest and Anthony's my youngest." She turned back to her eldest son, who was still trying to apologise to Holly by way of a series of pleading facial expressions.

"I'm worried about him, Jeffrey," she continued. "No-one has seen him for days, and I'm frightened he's got himself into something he can't get out of."

Slade sighed again, and his face broke into a smile. They had had this conversation before, and it always ended up with him agreeing to locate and sort out his brother. "He'll be fine, Mum. Tony's got more lives than a litter of kittens."

"Not this time," Sandra said, solemnly. "This time I think something's happened to him. I don't know…I can just feel it."

"Woman's intuition?" Holly asked, suddenly feeling a wave of empathy. Slade men had a knack of performing disappearing acts.

"Yes, I suppose so," she replied, smiling sadly.

Slade could feel himself being manipulated by forces he was ultimately powerless to resist. His plans for the evening had performed a sharp u-turn.

"Okay," he sighed, resignedly. "When did you last hear from him?"

Holly closed the front door and turned back to Slade, who looked more than a little sheepish. Holly had yet to decide whether his obvious discomfort was punishment enough for his secrecy over his family.

"Sorry about that," he said, shrugging. ""My mum…she gets funny ideas…"

"'Practically living together'? What _exactly_ have you been telling her?"

"Just that I've met someone completely unique…the only woman with a more-or-less fully operational time machine in her flat."

Holly offered him a sarcastic smile.

"Speaking of which…," Slade continued.

"No."

"_Holly_…"

"No, Slade," she told him, making her way back into the living room. "If you think going after your brother is a waste of time, if you think it's going to be easy to track him down then you can do it without the machine."

"Come on," Slade persisted, plonking himself beside her on the sofa. "I brought you dinner! And if we use the machine it will be so quick we'll be back in time for dessert."

"You want to do this _tonight_?" she asked, disbelievingly. When Slade set his mind on something he was like a terrier with a chew-toy. She was all too aware that he had the ability to talk her into almost anything, and he had very few scruples about it.

"Yeah," he replied, leaning closer to her "…unless you've got a better idea?"

Holly sat up, feeling her cheeks colouring again. She kept talking to avoid conveying her embarrassment.

"Have you thought that we might not travel back far enough? Your mum said he's been missing for two days, which is longer than we've travelled before – well, I mean, _I_ have, but not for a long time, and those were small, controlled experiments before the equipment started being overused…"

Slade gave her his most innocent of looks, and decided to take a chance.

"Where's your sense of adventure? What is the point of scientific advances if they're not put into practice? Look, if it doesn't work, I'll track him down the old-fashioned way."

"I'm surprised you can remember what that is," Holly said, folding her arms.

"He's probably fallen out with his girlfriend and is cooling off somewhere," he sighed, getting up from the sofa. "Or he owes some small-time shark a few hundred quid, and is hiding out until the coast is clear."

"Well, at least this way perhaps I'll get to meet your family – the family I didn't even know you had, by the way," Holly said pointedly. She wasn't sure why it was so important that she know where Slade came from, but perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she herself had no family. She had spent so many years desperately missing her mother, only to then lose her father to his work. Slade seemed to take his family for granted.

"You never asked!" Slade replied, collapsing in the chair beside the machine.

There was a pause; Holly narrowed her eyes at him. It was a standoff. This was what she hated about these situations; they always made her wonder whether she and Slade would even have a friendship if it wasn't for the tangled mass of electronic hardware in the corner. If he hadn't caught her out over the Silverman case, would they still just be exchanging polite hellos by the coffee machine? She worried that perhaps she only relented to him so often because she didn't want to lose him – and that was pathetic. But then if it was all one-sided, what about the none-too-subtle hints Sandra Slade had made?

"Why do I get the feeling I'm really going to regret this?" she said, finally.

"Probably because you will," Slade grinned, swinging in the chair. "But then you'll get over it, forgive me, and see that I was right all along."

Holly made a last check on the photon rods, flicked the switches and set the machine in motion. She had learnt never to relax at this point, and with good reason – just as Slade was putting his feet up on the coffee table, there was a disconcerting shuddering noise.

"What's that?" Slade asked, snapping upright again.

"Sounds like the axial particle inhibitor. Wait a second," Holly replied, easing herself behind the machine for closer inspection. "Here - "

She handed him the offending piece of equipment.

"Ow!" Slade exclaimed, dropping it on the carpet. "That's hot!"

"Really? Funny how easy it is to forget the most obvious information. Surely you've done that before…?"

"Ha ha," he responded, flatly, knowing when to admit defeat. "Ready to go?"

"Ready," Holly confirmed, and hit the initiation switch.

When the activity of the machine died down, and the light in the room returned to normal, Slade checked his watch.

"Eleven a.m. Time to find out what day it is."

"Wednesday," Holly replied, her hand on the door handle.

"How do you know?"

Holly jiggled the door handle. "I double-locked the living room door before I left for the conference."

"Can you open it from the inside?"

"No," she replied. "But that does not give you permission to go clambering out of a second storey window in an attempt to break back in."

"Actually," said Slade, coming towards her. "I was just going to kick the door open."

"What?"

"Well, when we travel back to the present, it won't be broken – right?"

Holly gave him a sceptical look, but before she had a chance to reply, Slade took a step backwards and brought his shoe full force against the wooden door. It snapped back on its hinges, revealing the rest of the flat, and leaving a size twelve indentation in the wood. Holly put her head in her hands.

"Right," Slade said, dusting his hands. "Time to find that brother of mine."

Holly drove them out of London and followed Slade's directions into a small, generic commuter belt, and a road with a single row of shops. Slade had only been here once before, in circumstances not unlike these ones, and it was with a sense of dread that he approached their destination.

"So, what about the other two?" asked Holly, who had been doing her own thinking en route.

"Other two what?"

"Brothers. You're the oldest, he's the youngest…what about the two in the middle?"

"Why do you want to know?" Slade asked, distracted.

"Oh I don't know. Just curious."

"Well, there's Ray – he's a heating engineer – and Tommy, who's got his own gardening business. They're good boys, on the whole…though they don't have the charm and good looks of their big brother."

Holly smiled. "So what about Tony? What does he do?"

Slade laughed. "As little as he can get away with. He's had his own businesses, which have gone bust after a month; he's had casual work but can't stick at anything. He just about manages to stay on this side of the law. It's not for lack of intelligence – the Slade genes are impeccable."

Now it was Holly's turn to laugh.

"Just up here on the left," Slade said, indicating for Holly to stop. They parked in front of a Chinese take-away, closed until the evening.

"Is this where Tony lives?" Holly asked, perplexed.

"Not here," Slade replied, and then pointed up to the first floor window. "There. Above the shop."

There was a separate front door for the upstairs flat, and Slade rang the bell. "Now I warn you, if you think my flat's not up to much, you haven't seen anything yet."

There was no reply from the flat. Slade tried rattling the letterbox instead.

"There's at least a day's worth of post on the mat," Holly observed, looking at the handful of letters, leaflets and circulars.

Slade took a step back, and was about the shoulder-barge the door when Holly stepped forward and gave it a delicate push. The door swung open effortlessly.

"See, not everything requires brute force, Slade," she said, smiling.

Slade jiggled the handle, which was clearly broken, splinters of wood hanging from the frame.

"Looks like someone got here before us," he mused, stepping over the mail. The entrance in which they stood led straight up a set of stairs, covered in threadbare carpet straight out of the seventies. At the top, the interior door was also open, and Slade motioned for Holly to stay where she was. He drew his gun, holding it parallel to his leg as he rounded the doorway into the flat.

"Anyone there?" he called, cautiously. "Tony?"

There was no response, no sound.

"It's the police!" he added, trying another approach. A quick scout around conveyed that there was no-one at home, and he actually felt a wave of relief when he hadn't found his brother. Given the circumstances, any discovery of human life wasn't likely to be pleasant.

"The question is…" Slade pondered, as Holly joined him in the flat. "Was he here when they paid their little visit?"

Holly surveyed the messy flat; although it was certainly lived in, it had not by any means been turned upside down.

"There's no sign of a struggle," she observed, walking through the living room. By the window was an old desk, the drawers hanging out at different angles. "But it looks as though someone's been through the desk."

Slade looked over from the pile of newspapers he was leafing through. "Anything useful?"

"A couple of bills," Holly replied, flipping through the strewn paperwork. "Overdue, by the looks of things. Some takeaway menus, shopping receipts…"

"Phone's off the hook," Slade said, suddenly, pointing to the desk.

"That's why he wasn't answering."

"Yeah," he said, vaguely. "…Maybe Tony left in a hurry – I mean, a _real_ hurry?"

"You mean - "

"As a result of a phone call. We need to find out who dialled this number last."

Slade punched in the last-caller code, and hung up a couple of seconds later.

"Caller withheld their number – hardly surprising."

"Looks like your mum was right," Holly sighed.

Slade stood, his hands on his hips, and surveyed the decrepit, deserted flat. How had his little brother ended up with a life like this?

"I need you to make a phone call," he said.

"Who to?" she replied, sceptically.

"To the station – actually, better call Nicky. Ask him to call the service provider and find the last caller to dial this number."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because I'm already at work, remember? Probably sitting right across from Nicky at this moment."

Holly heaved another sigh. "But I'm supposed to be at the conference. What should I tell him?"

"That you'll explain later," Slade said, handing her the receiver.

"How will I do that?"

Slade shrugged. "We'll think of something."

"So?" Slade asked when Holly replaced the receiver a couple of minutes later. She had been scribbling down some notes, which she tore off the pad.

"The last call came from a company called Fast-Tech Imports, located in an office complex just outside the Square Mile," she told him, Nicky's puzzled tone still echoing in her head. "The premises are leased to a Mitchell Brace. According to Nicky, he doesn't have a record."

"What does he import?" Slade asked.

"Er…home entertainment equipment," she read. "Top-of-the-range TVs, stereos; they're one of the first companies in the UK to begin importing DVD players from Japan."

"What would they want with my brother?"

Before Holly had time to put forward a theory, there was a noise downstairs. Slade put his finger to his lips. There it was again. He grabbed Holly's arm and pulled her into the bathroom with him, silently closing the door behind them. Slade could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and the deep mumble of muffled voices. Holly was pinned in between Slade's back and the bathroom wall, his arm reaching back and holding her there, protectively. She could feel his heart beating through his back, and the pace was quickening.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

He shook his head to indicate that he knew it wasn't his brother.

The footsteps came closer, and the voices clearer.

"Someone's been back," one of the men commented.

"You think it was Slade?" the other asked. There was the sound of paper being casually swept onto the floor.

"He wouldn't be that stupid," the first replied. "We need to see if he's left anything behind that could cause the boss any hassle. I'll check this room and the kitchen; you have a look around the others."

Slade swallowed hard, and Holly felt his whole body tense up. This was great, marvellous; somehow, he always managed to get them into situations like this. It was only a matter of time now. Slade took a step sideways. He exchanged glances with Holly, trying to reassure her.

The door opened. A small, thin man stood there, and there was a strange moment as he and Slade clocked each other.

"Afternoon," Slade said, breezily, before landing a well-placed elbow in the man's face.

"Come on!" he beckoned to Holly, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the room, as the man reeled from the pain.

They only made it a few feet before Slade found himself facing something even less pleasant – the wrong end of an automatic handgun. On the other end of it was a tall, broad man with a square crew-cut and a tattoo on his neck.

"Hold it right there," he said, smiling. "Mr Slade, right? The boss never mentioned anything about a girl being mixed up in all this."

He looked to Holly, who Slade was instinctively shielding.

"And what are you doing, darling? Not helping Tony to make an escape, are you?"

"We're not who you think we are," Slade told him, carefully. His fist stung from the punch he had thrown.

"Oh, really?"

"I'm not Tony. I'm his brother."

"Oh, Tony's got a twin, has he? How convenient," the first man – the man now nursing his jaw – asked, sarcastically.

"Not a twin," Slade replied. "I'm his older brother. I'm also a police officer, and you're both in a lot of trouble."

"Is that right?" the tattooed man said. "You see, the way I see it, you're the one with a gun pointing at your pretty-boy face, so I'd say you're the one in a lot of trouble….Tony."

The smaller man suddenly grabbed Slade and began to pat him down. Slade felt his heart sink when the man located his gun in his hip-holster.

"He's armed, Angelo," the man said, holding up the gun.

"Now what we you planning to do with that, Tony?" Angelo said.

"I'm telling you," Slade said, with increasing irritation. "I'm not him."

It was then that he remembered leaving his badge on the coffee table in Holly's flat, and back in a different time zone.

"You're in Tony Slade's flat, you match the description the boss gave us…you want to try a more original idea next time, pal," the thin man said. And, without warning, he launched the butt of the confiscated gun at Slade's head.

"Slade!" Holly cried, as Slade crumpled against the wall. She ran across to him, looking in horror at the open gash left behind. "What was that for?" she demanded of the men.

"Now we're even," the man replied, shoving the gun into his belt.

"Help him up," Angelo told Holly. "We're leaving."

"Where are you taking us?"

"To a little facility we have; nice and cosy. Just until the boss can decide what he wants to do to your boyfriend here."

Holly managed to manoeuvre herself underneath Slade and support him, as they stumbled through the door and down the stairs. She noticed her car phone as they were bundled across the street, but even if they could, who would they call? How could they explain Slade being in two places at once? Angelo opened the door of a huge black Freelander and pushed Slade inside.

"Get in," he ordered Holly. "And don't even think of trying to escape. The child-locks are idiot proof."

An hour later, the car pulled up in front of a series of warehouses. Holly had tried to keep track of where they were going, but the windows in the back of the vehicle were completely blacked out. There was a partition between where she and Slade were sitting and the two men in the front, so it was tantamount to being in a mobile prison cell.

"Are you okay?" Slade asked her, holding a handkerchief of Holly's to his head.

"Oh yes, just great," she replied, realising the shrill tone in her voice. "We've been locked in the back of a van by a pair of Neanderthals on our way to God knows where – and to top it all off, we're time-travelling!"

"Well, if that's all you're worried about…"

"What are we going to do, Slade? We have no idea what these people want with us, what they might do to us."

Slade had to admit that the situation didn't look good however he tried to spin it. What had Tony got himself mixed up in? And where the hell was he? If whoever these people were didn't have him, then the only people to be suffering from his stupidity were completely innocent bystanders.

"We'll think of something," he said, offering Holly a weak smile.

By the time the doors were thrown open, they could see that dusk was almost upon them.

"Out!" the smaller man ordered.

They were herded into a warehouse, a gun to Slade's temple the whole time. Once inside, they were directed up a set of metal stairs, through an office and into a small storeroom.

There was a ceiling prop in the centre of the room, and Angelo shifted a pair of crates into position either side of it.

"Sit," he told Slade and Holly, who did as they were told and sat back to back. He then produced a pair of handcuffs, and proceeded to cuff the two of them together, twisting the chain around the pole. His henchman then handed him some packing twine.

"We've got to make sure you don't go wandering off," he said by way of explanation. The two men wrapped the twine around Slade and Holly, who struggled against the binding.

"Where are you going?" Slade demanded, as they headed for the door.

"To make sure you haven't fouled up this whole deal," Angelo replied. "It's worth close to three million, which is a lot more than you're worth to the boss. You can't back out of a deal with Mitchell Brace, not when you know as much as you do, Tony."

As they were leaving the room, the other man turned back, shaking his head and obviously enjoying himself.

"Thirty grand - coulda been yours, Slade. But you had to go and get a conscience."

The two men laughed, locking the door behind them.

"Great," Holly sighed. "Now what?"

She was trying not to convey her fear and panic, but it became more difficult with every passing minute. Her arm was twisted at an uncomfortable angle, and the cuff was digging into her wrist.

"They'll be back," Slade replied, trying to think.

"Oh yes, when? We have to be back at the machine tomorrow night, and we have no idea where we are. And what happens when they do come back? I can't imagine they're going to want to have a civilised conversation."

"They obviously weren't in the Boy Scouts," Slade murmured.

"What?"

"These knots - I can untie them. It just might take a while with one hand."

There was silence for a few moments, but the quiet only made Holly more nervous.

"Seeing as we've found ourselves with some spare time," she began. "You could tell me about your family."

Slade looked up from the knot he was working on.

"What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know…How did your parents meet? They seem very different."

"They met at work."

"Your mum was in the police?"

"She was a secretary in the Commissioner's office. My dad was a uniform sergeant and he was working a case where he thought they had the wrong man. His Super wouldn't listen, so he decided to take it to the top. My mum helped him to get access to the Commissioner; it took a few attempts, but she got him a meeting. Turned out he was right about the case, too."

"What about your mum?"

"My dad got a personal phone call from the Commissioner a week later. Told him he was to accompany the Commissioner's secretary to the Christmas Ball."

Holly smiled.

"You can't imagine how many times we heard that one, growing up," he added. "What about your mum and dad? Was your mum a mad scientist too?"

She laughed, in spite of herself and in spite of the situation.

"She was a doctor," she told him. "They actually met in a hospital. My dad had an accident in his lab at the university and had to go to casualty. She was on duty that day. My dad always said that for him it was love at first sight."

"So what did he do? Sweep her off her feet with the promise of a life of particle inhibitors and electromagnetic crystals?" Slade laughed.

"He didn't know what to do, so he kept going back to the hospital with more injuries – minor burns, chemical rashes, anything he could think of so he could spend time with her."

"She didn't think that was…well, weird?"

"Actually, yes she did. She wanted to have him admitted for a psychiatric evaluation and so he was forced to tell her why he was really there."

Slade smiled, and wished he could see the expression on Holly's face. He continued to twist the thin rope in his fingers, pulling loose strands through loops and pushing others out of them. His hand ached from the restricted movement, but the conversation was a welcome distraction – and it seemed to be taking Holly's mind away from her panic.

"What would they have thought of me?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Your mum and dad."

Holly knew it was a loaded question, and it was one she sometimes considered too. She tried to deny why the question even entered her mind, because she knew exactly why. Her mother didn't have the chance to know her even as a teenager, let alone an adult; her father had begun to think about her future, though, and who might lie in that future. It showed how wrong a genius could be.

"My father would have questioned everything about you," she replied, carefully. "That's what he did with everyone. People weren't his forte, really. But if he'd got to know you, he would have liked you – you have a way of confounding expectations."

"What does that mean?" Slade asked, amused.

"You have hidden depths," she replied, enigmatically. "Very well hidden at times."

"I think that was an insult, but I'll let it pass," he said. "Especially as…"

He gave the twine one final tug, and Holly felt it become slack. The two of them used their free hands to rip the binding away from them, kicking against the rope and shrugging it from around their upper bodies.

"You didn't know that escapology lay somewhere in my hidden depths," he grinned, as they got to their feet.

"I'm learning all the time," Holly said, smiling with relief. "You think you could magic us out of these handcuffs?"

"I can do better than that," he replied, grinning. "I've got a key." He took the key from his own set of cuffs out of his pocket, but it didn't fit the tiny lock.

"Maybe there are some tools around here somewhere," he suggested, heading for the door that divided the storeroom from the office. The door was locked, and Slade turned back to Holly.

"You are going to let me kick this one down, aren't you?"

The door gave way with one kick, and Slade emerged cautiously. The echo from the door would have been more than enough to alert anyone who was in the building. After a minute or so it was apparent that they were alone. Dragging Holly behind him, Slade made a beeline for the desk. A quick rifle through the drawers demonstrated that there were no tools or keys to be found, but Slade soon found his attention distracted by papers and documents on and in the desk.

"What are you doing?" Holly asked, anxiously aware of the time and the fact that danger didn't feel far away.

"Looking around."

"For what?"

"Clues," he told her. Flipping through the files was difficult with only one free hand; whenever he needed to use his left hand, he ended up yanking Holly's arm at the same time.

"We need to get out of here, Slade," Holly told him, seizing his hand. "They could come back at any minute."

"You go, I'll catch up," he grinned.

"Very funny."

"Look through this lot," Slade told her, handing her a small sheaf of manila folders. "But do it over here because I want to see what the computer has to say."

Holly heaved a frustrated sigh and allowed herself to be tugged towards the PC. Sometimes she thought Slade did it deliberately, that he got some sort of perverse satisfaction from annoying her. She picked up the first file.

"What am I looking for?" she asked.

Slade looked up from the computer, which, as usual, he was struggling to navigate his way around. Having only one free hand made everything take twice as long.

"My brother's name. Or anything to indicate what kind of racket our Mr Brace is running here."

The first thing Holly found was a First Aid kit, and with Slade's head in mind (and the fact that she couldn't discount other, future injuries) she stuffed a few elastoplasts into her pocket.

"Well, these look like shipping manifests," Holly said, frowning, as she flipped open a file. "Going back four years…dates, ports of origin, some companies…"

"Any names there?"

"No, but there are codes that must stand for something – the goods being imported, maybe."

Slade nodded, thoughtfully – then his face spread into a grin. "No passwords on this thing," he said, shaking his head. "Silly boy."

He scrolled down to the option that said 'Search all documents', and typed in his brother's name. A box appeared on the screen: '1 file found'; he clicked to open it. The document contained a passport-style photograph of Tony Slade, and information that was clearly fabricated.

"Look at this," Slade said, tapping the screen. "Tony is listed as the director of this company…"

"Portland Micronics…" Holly read from the screen.

"He's also listed as the contact for a shipment."

"Wait a second, isn't his address - "

"82a Portland Road," Slade nodded. "It's a cover, a fake company."

Holly turned back to the manifest and scanned the list again, a nagging sense of familiarity in her head. Her finger traced down the page and struck gold.

"Portland Road, it's on here," she said.

"What's the date on the shipment?" Slade asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"The twenty-third."

"Today."

"Day after tomorrow," Holly corrected him. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, but we need to find out what's going to be delivered to Tony's flat tomorrow and why."

Slade switched the computer off at the monitor, and started to make for the door.

"We can't go there now," Holly protested, as she followed him.

"Why not?" he asked, stopping mid-stride.

"It's nearly eleven p.m."

"How time flies when you've been kidnapped," Slade replied, breezily. "Come on."

Finding their way out of the industrial wasteland in which they had been dumped took longer than Slade anticipated, and by the time they reached civilisation it became clear that central London wasn't within walking distance. The lights of a main road were like an oasis in the desert, though Slade was dismayed to see from the virtually deserted dual carriageway that thumbing a lift was probably not going to amount to much. But where there was a main road, a motel usually wasn't far away.

"Have you got any money?" he asked Holly, digging into his pocket for his wallet. As he did so, a piece of paper fluttered from his jacket pocket.

"No, I haven't," she replied, picking up the paper, which Slade had apparently failed to notice. When she unfolded it, the words made her brain stop dead in its tracks. She quickly refolded it and secreted it in her hand.

"Oh well," Slade sighed. "The credit card will have to have a workout, then."

"Fine," Holly said, absently.

"Will that do?" he said, indicating to a chain hotel a couple of hundred yards away.

"Yes."

Slade frowned. The change in Holly's tone of voice hadn't passed him by, but he had no idea what had brought it on. Certainly she wasn't happy with the situation they had wound up in, but even for her this was strange.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "I know it's not the Waldorf Astoria…"

"No. It'll be fine."

Slade looked at her suspiciously, but she wasn't going to give anything away. Holly could be highly strung at times, something he had learned how best to handle during the time they'd known each other.

"Take my hand," he told Holly as they approached the light of the motel entrance.

"What? Why?" Holly almost shrieked, twisting her hand away from his.

"Well, I doubt they're going to give a room to two people handcuffed together. They'll think we've escaped from somewhere."

"Isn't that exactly what we've just done?"

"Yeah, but we're the good guys," he replied. "Come on."

"Here," Holly said, thrusting the purloined elastoplasts at him. "So you don't look like you've been in a boxing match."

The motel receptionist seemed surprised to see anyone arriving at such a late hour, particularly people turning up without any luggage. He smiled his most professional smile, which Slade returned with his most charming.

"Good evening," he began, keeping close to Holly.

"Good evening, sir, madam."

Holly tried to edge away from Slade, but felt him strengthen his grip on her fingers.

"Our car broke down a few miles away, and we can't get it towed until the morning," Slade told the receptionist.

"We'd like two singles, please," Holly said, through gritted teeth, refusing to look at Slade.

Slade cleared his throat slightly. "Come on, darling," he said in a low whisper, loud enough, however, to ensure that the receptionist could hear. "Let's not fight any more."

He turned back to the receptionist.

"We'll take a double."

"Certainly, sir," the young man replied. His puzzled frown did not escape Slade's notice. Before he could say anything else, he felt Holly tugging him away from the desk.

"What?" he asked her, once they were out of earshot.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

"What am _I_ doing? How were you planning for the two of us to sleep in separate rooms?" he replied, rattling the cuffs to indicate what he meant.

Holly opened her mouth to answer, but there was nothing to say. She was exhausted, having effectively been awake and on her feet for nearly twenty-four hours, but she was also quietly furious. Somehow it was typical of Slade that at a time when she didn't even want to look at him, it was impossible for them to be apart. The sensation of his fingers entwined with hers was almost too much to bear.

As Slade signed for the room and picked up the key, Holly turned away and silently opened her palm to reveal the note again. Her eyes followed the strokes of Slade's handwriting, the same flash of incredulity coursing through her brain. She didn't want to acknowledge what it said and certainly didn't want to think about what it meant: 'Francesca's no – 0181 3425000'.

"Room 142," Slade said, "First floor. The honeymoon suite wasn't available, I'm afraid."

Holly didn't reply, but glowered back at him.

"Holly, what's going on?" Slade asked, as they travelled up in the lift, Holly doing her level best to stand as far away from him as possible.

"What?"

"Look, I know you were angry at me for how things have turned out, but now suddenly you're acting like I just killed your cat."

"It's nothing," she replied, dismissively.

The lift reached the first floor with a sudden jerk and the doors swooshed open.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me what's wrong then I can't do anything to make it better," he replied.

Holly thought she could detect a note of faint amusement in his voice.

"Just forget it."

Slade swiped the key-card and opened the hotel room door. They were confronted by the bland uniformity of a motorway hotel chain, clean but clinical, comfortable but inelegant. Holly knew she should just let tiredness take over, but the note was still burning a hole in her pocket and refusing to budge from her mind. Slade certainly worked fast, she'd give him that; she'd only been gone, what, two days? Not that it was any of her business…except that it felt as though it was _exactly_ her business.

They sat down beside each other at the foot of the bed. It was only as Holly tried to lean down to take her shoes off that she realised she restrictions of the handcuffs. She sat up again, catching Slade with a smile on his face.

"Need a hand?" he asked, innocently.

"No," she replied. "Thank you."

She eased the shoe off with one hand, using her other foot as leverage. Slade began to do the same, lifting his feet up onto the bed one by one, jerking Holly's arm as he did so. She jerked back, offering him one of her finest glares.

"I can't believe that when they saw you your parents decided to have another three," she spat, before standing up and dragging Slade with her.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm getting a glass of water from the bathroom."

"Erm…I wouldn't do that if I were you," he told her, following obediently.

"Oh, and why not?"

"Well…there's the little matter of what will happen when the water, you know, follows its natural course. Getting any privacy could be tricky."

He was right, of course, and that only infuriated Holly further.

"Well, then is there some way of turning the heat down in here?" she said, searching the room for an obvious dial or switch. It had occurred to her that they couldn't even take off their coats now they were shackled together; she was not looking forward to a night breathing in the fusty odour of Slade's suede jacket.

With the air-conditioning cranked up, and the digital clock on the TV reading 00:43, there was nothing to be done other than to sleep. Slade and Holly settled down on the bed, inching their way backwards until they were sitting with their backs to the headboard.

"Hope you don't mind sleeping on the right," Slade said, attempting to break the awkward silence. He was surprised at how tense he suddenly felt at the prospect of sharing a bed with Holly, especially when the question of his missing brother was what should have been on his mind. What on earth had happened to change her mood so drastically? Slade knew that only he could provoke such a reaction in her, and something about that fact was comforting. He wondered whether he would ever fully understand Holly – but then where would the fun be in that?

"Just keep to your side of the bed," she replied.

"Don't worry about that. It's a bit frosty on your side anyway."

Holly was right, the room was still far too warm, so neither of them made a move to get under the covers. Instead, they arranged themselves side by side on top of the blanket. Slade was aware that to an onlooker the situation couldn't help but seem comical – Holly was lying at the very edge of the bed in order to put as much distance between them as possible. He hitched himself onto his elbow, gave his pillow a quick plump and collapsed back down again.

"Well…g'night," he said, reaching above his head to switch off the light.

"'Night," Holly replied flatly, her eyes already closed. When a few minutes had elapsed she allowed herself to open her eyes. In the gloom Slade was silhouetted by the lights from the motorway outside, his free hand pillowing his head. Despite her anger, she felt her heartbeat jump involuntarily. As she lay there, she felt his fingers gently fold around hers.

"Holly."

Holly shifted slightly in her sleep, aware that she was surfacing into wakefulness.

"Holly," the voice repeated softly. "Time to wake up."

She could taste something strange, slightly musty, or maybe she was breathing it in. Opening her eyes, she gradually realised what was going on. She looked up and saw Slade looking down at her, smiling lopsidedly. Then the real horror dawned on her – she was lying half on top of him. The smell was from his jacket.

"Sleep all right?" he grinned.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, remembering the events of the night before. "You're on my side of the bed!"

"I'd love to be able to move," he replied, sounding much more awake than she was. "But it's a bit difficult with your hand inside my shirt."

Holly instinctively moved her hand and, sure enough, it had somehow slipped its way in between the buttons of Slade's shirt and her fingers had been resting just below his chest. She felt instantly flushed with embarrassment.

"Ow!" he yelped, when she yanked her hand away.

"Ow!" Holly responded, when, forgetting that she and Slade were still handcuffed together, she hurried to get off the bed. The cold metal edges of the cuffs cut into her wrist. She sat down again. This was the worst day of her life.

"It's after eight, we should get going," Slade said, sliding across the bed to sit beside her and retrieving his discarded shoes. "First stop – a hardware store," he added, ratting the cuffs.

A hardware store turned out not to be necessary, thanks to a passing hotel maintenance man and his hacksaw. A stunned queue of travellers had watched while Slade sawed through the metal links right there on the reception desk, to Holly's utter embarrassment. Almost as embarrassing – and infuriating – as the receptionist referring to her, when they checked, out as Mrs Slade.

It was lunchtime by the time Holly and Slade arrived back in central London, courtesy of a lorry driver Slade collared at the service station beside the motel. Holly had endured the journey in silence, perched on the foldout bed the driver kept in his cabin while Slade sat up front in the passenger seat. She had been glad to put some distance between them, glad to have the privacy to think. She knew she had more important things to consider than what Slade had or hadn't been up to while she was at the conference, but she couldn't help it. Who was Francesca, and how long had Slade known her? Had he been waiting for Holly to be out of the way before he made his move? She fiddled with the cuff around her wrist; it had been more than a match for a hacksaw and would require something more forceful. Now it hung uselessly from her arm like an ugly, oversized piece of jewellery.

Slade hadn't enjoyed the journey much more than Holly had, although he did appreciate the bacon sandwich he managed to grab from a roadside caff en route, wolfing it down in barely three bites. He thought about his mum, wondered what she was doing at that moment, wondering whether she was thinking about coming to visit him that night. After everything that happened with his dad, Slade was furious at Tony for making her worry. And not too pleased at him for thwarting his plans with Holly either. A special date was coming up and his careful (and uncharacteristic) planning might now come to nothing.

"Where are we going?" Holly asked, once the trucker had deposited them at petrol station.

"Back to the station," Slade replied, scanning the road for a taxi rank.

"We can't. Remember?"

"Of course," he said, nodding. "I'm already there and you're supposed to be enjoying the hospitality of Mad Scientists Anonymous. But we're going to need access to the computers at the station."

"You're not suggesting…?"

"Relax, Holly. I've got a plan."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Getting into the office without arousing suspicion proved to be easier than either Slade or Holly anticipated. Slade drew a puzzled frown from Frank as he went through the back entrance, but this provided Holly with the opportunity to slip by without being noticed.

"It's ten past one. Can you remember what your other self is doing?" Holly whispered, as they crept carefully up the stairs and onto the floor that held their office.

"I spent all yesterday - sorry, _today_ – doing paperwork," he replied. "Grisham threatened to suspend my overtime if I didn't finish my reports."

"Perhaps it would be quicker if you learned to type with more than two fingers," Holly said flatly.

They ducked into one of the empty computer rooms, lined with shelves and filing cabinets. Slade switched on one of the computers and logged into the criminal records database.

"Time to get to the bottom of this."

"But what about your brother?"

"We follow the trail of dirty dealings and we'll find Tony somewhere along the way."

"How are you going to do that? According to Nicky, Brace is clean."

"Yes, but I'll bet I know someone who isn't," Slade replied. Using the search engine he typed in the first name 'Angelo' and selected all London boroughs. A list of a few hundred names appeared. Slade frowned. He narrowed the age range and the list became smaller.

"How tall would you say our meat-headed friend was?" he asked, standing up. "My height?"

"More or less," Holly agreed.

Slade narrowed the height requirements. Eighteen names appeared. He clicked to open the files and began to scroll down the list, scrutinising the photos. His finger came to rest on a black-and-white mugshot.

"Recognise anyone?" he said.

"That's him."

"Mmmm. GBH, ABH, aggravated assault, armed robbery – charming character we've got here."

"Wait a second," Holly said, leaning forwarded. "He's got a warrant outstanding. Look."

Sure enough, in the 'related cases' section of the file, was a note stating that Angelo Wallace was being sought for questioning in connection with a series of other crimes.

"Failure to turn up at court," Slade read. "Perhaps we can change his mind. And I'd bet good money that one of these 'known associates' is the handsome fella who now has my elbow-print on his face. Let's go."

"_Now_ where are we going?" Holly demanded.

"To the esteemed residence of Mr Angelo Wallace, esquire," Slade replied. "To ask him about these."

Slade reached into his jacket pocket and produced a sheaf of paper. Holly immediately recognised them as the records they had found in the office of the warehouse. He was unbelievable.

"You don't think they'll notice those are missing?"

"By the time they do we'll have linked Angelo Wallace to Mitchell Brace, and in turn to the stolen goods."

"But wait a second. We have to be back at the machine in less than six hours, and after that point those print-outs will just be blank. No evidence."

Slade paused, his hand on the door. Sometimes it felt like Time was interfering more than assisting with his work. Through the glass in the door he could see Nicky at work at his desk, pushing a pen through his curly hair as he concentrated intently on something on his computer. He knew that a few feet away, obscured by a pillar, he himself was sitting, ostensibly typing reports but in reality thinking about his plans for Holly.

Slade moved to the fax machine in the computer room and began to feed the sheets into it. Holly looked over his shoulder as he scrawled a note to accompany the printouts.

Nicky, make copies of these documents and keep them securely in your desk. Will explain later. Holly

"Why me?" Holly asked.

"Because I'm sitting right across from him. Why would I send him a fax?"

Holly sighed. "It won't work."

"That's what you always say."

"And I'm _always_ right."

Slade fed the note into the fax machine, typed in the number and hit 'send.' Several seconds later, through the window, they could see Nicky look up as the fax machine next to him beeped insistently. He got up from his seat and removed the sheets, frowning as his eyes followed the words. Holding the pages, he disappeared from view.

Suddenly, Slade remembered something.

"Of course! When I was in the office today, Nicky asked me where you were. He must be doing that right now."

"What did you say?"

Slade shrugged. "I told him you were at that conference. Had no idea what he was talking about."

"Well, you do now."

Slade nodded. "Come on, let's go."

Angelo Wallace leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the smaller man nodding apologetically and trying to get a word in edgeways. Angelo could hear the voice on the other end of the line quite clearly and knew exactly what the call was about.

"He says he's getting it sorted, Mr Brace," the small man assured the caller, glancing at Angelo for approval.

Well, I want it sorted _now_! If you can't bring Tony Slade to my office by the end of the day the police will be getting an anonymous tip-off about your whereabouts, and I know that neither of you want that.

"It's sweet, Mr Brace. He and the girl can't have got far."

What girl? Is there someone else I have to worry about now?

"Just a girlfriend. She won't give us any bother."

If I so much as smell a whiff of bacon around here, Parks, you and Mr Wallace will be collecting your bus passes when you get out of jail.

Lynton hung up the phone and turned to Angelo. Lynton had managed to clean the blood off his nose, but it had since swollen up to twice its normal size, bringing with it an impressive black eye.

"He said-"

"I heard what he said," Angelo cut in. "And when we find Tony Slade I'm going to make sure he can never do a runner ever again."

Reaching into his inside coat he produced a long-barrelled handgun. Holding it up to eye-level, he released the clip, checked it, and snapped it back into the chamber before returning it to his pocket.

Lynton drew himself up to his full height, checking his tie in the hallway mirror before opening the front door…which was promptly slammed back in his face. Crumpling to the ground in agony in the doorway, he looked up to see a familiar face standing over him. Angelo reacted immediately, drawing his gun as he stepped over his prone colleague, only to be met with an elbow in his neck and, a split-second later, another gun in his face.

"Drop it," Slade told him, pinning Angelo's arm behind his back. The gun hit the concrete. "There's a good boy," he added.

"Nice shiner," he told Lynton. "However did you get that?"

"You're a dead man, Slade!" Angelo growled, as Slade marched him back into the house, gun aimed squarely at the back of his neck. Holly followed at a safe distance, having picked up the discarded firearm and put it gingerly into her coat pocket.

"You - this way," he ordered Lynton, who was struggling to get to his feet.

Once back in the kitchen, the reality of the situation finally dawned on Slade; he had the gun, but there were two of them, and one of them was particularly angry with him. A confident show of bravado was going to have to carry him through this one. He ordered the two men to sit down at the kitchen table and threw Lynton his handcuffs, indicating for Lynton to shackle himself to Angelo. A look of realisation crossed Angelo's face, as he accepted that Slade and Tony were not the same man.

"Angelo Wallace," Slade began. "The police have been looking for you all over – there's a few things they need your help with."

"Go to hell!" the man spat.

Slade tutted. "Perhaps your friend can do better than that. You're not Mr Lynton Parks by any chance?"

The younger man looked to his colleague for guidance, unsure whether to deny it. In the end, he offered a defeated nod.

"Oh, then in that case you'll be sharing a cell together. How sweet."

"Unless," Holly said, finding some confidence. "You can tell us about Fast-Tech Imports."

"Never heard of them," Angelo shrugged.

"You work for the boss, Mitchell Brace," Slade said. "You can knock a couple of years off your time inside if you tell me how we can get him."

There was silence from both men, though the menacing expression on Angelo's face spoke loud and clear.

"All right. Tell us about the deal going down tomorrow."

"The deal Tony was supposed to be involved in.," Holly added.

Again, they were met with silence. The only noise was Lynton's foot tapping nervously on the linoleum floor.

"Receiving stolen goods, kidnap, assaulting a police officer," Slade said, looking at the younger man. "You're not small-time any more, are you, Mr Parks? You'll be doing time with the big boys."

"It's happening at Quay 57," Lynton blurted. "Twelve consignments, nine o'clock. The shipment was meant to be going to Holland but it's been diverted."

At that moment, Angelo launched at his companion, pushing the younger man off his chair and tangling with him on the floor. With his free fist, Angelo pummelled the smaller man until Slade, momentarily taken aback, brought the mouth of his gun up against Angelo's skull.

"Play nicely," he told Angelo. "Why can't you be more like Lynton here?"

"I'm going to kill him," Angelo growled. "Right after I kill you."

Holly had a bad feeling about the situation, and knew that while Slade could usually handle himself, it could all go horribly wrong in a split second. Going after Brace's goons was a risky strategy, and the clock on the kitchen wall told her that they only had the best part of the afternoon to wrap this up and get back to the machine.

"What's Tony Slade got to do with all this?" Holly asked, anxious to focus on their original quest.

This time, Lynton couldn't seem to look at his partner.

"He's the laundry man," he said. "He's the clean contact between the shipping company and…"

"Mitchell Brace?"

Lynton hung his head.

"So he went into this voluntarily?" Slade asked, already knowing the answer. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm going to kill him."

"Problem is, he backed out," Lynton added. "Did a runner."

"And where is he now?" Holly demanded.

"We dunno. We thought you was him," he replied, with a nod to Slade.

"Could Brace have got to him through someone else?" Slade asked, trying to assess whether their apparent ignorance was a good thing. "Could he be holding him somewhere?"

"We just do what we're told," Angelo said, gruffly.

Slade sighed. The frustrating thing was not that they wouldn't talk, but that they couldn't; Lynton and Angelo were too far down the food chain. All Slade had learned so far was that his brother was even stupider than he had thought.

Using tea towels to first tie the two men to their chairs, Slade drew Holly out of the kitchen with him for a conference.

"Now what?" she said, before he had a chance to speak. She was standing with her hands on her hips, and Slade guessed that her state of mind hadn't been improved by their latest actions.

"We've got enough to go on. We have these two taken back to the station and when we travel back to our own time zone we see what we can do about busting this racket."

"What about your brother?"

"Well, I think this might be the only way to find him."

Slade was about to head back to the kitchen when Holly caught him by the elbow.

"Wait a minute, how do we present these two at the station when you're already there and I'm at the conference?"

Slade paused.

"I could say I caught them in my lunch hour?"

Back at the station, Morris was typing up a surveillance report when Frank, the desk sergeant, came bustling up the corridor.

"Detective Morris?"

"Yeah?"  
>"Just had a report from security that there's something up with your car," said Frank.<p>

"What's happened this time?" Slade asked, leaning back on his chair and twirling a pen between his fingers. "The floor fall out?"

Morris sneered at Slade.

"I'll come and check it out," Morris told Frank.

"Hope it's nothing serious," Nicky offered, as he left. Then he turned to Slade. "Are you sure Holly's at a conference today?"

"Yeah, I told you. She's coming back tonight."

"It's just that it didn't sound like she was at a conference."

Slade laughed. "What does a conference sound like, Nicky?"

Nicky looked mildly injured by this comment. "I don't know. Just…more people around, I suppose."

"Maybe she was taking a break," Slade suggested. "She'll probably need it, all those scientist types about."

Down in the parking garage, Morris approached his Volvo Estate with some trepidation, Frank following behind him at a slight distance. He'd expected it to be the alarm going off again, but all was silent.

"What did security say?" he asked Frank.

"They just called me, said there was something wrong," Frank replied, with a shrug.

When they got closer, it was suddenly obvious. The car was not empty.

"There's someone in my car!" Morris exclaimed, stepping back. As he edged closer, he saw that there were two men, one bulky and with a crew-cut, one smaller and more rat-like. Their hands were tied and there was gaffer tape across their mouths.

"What's going on?" Morris demanded, to no-one in particular.

"Look, there's a note on the windshield," Frank said, pointing to a neatly folded piece of white paper.

Keeping his eyes on the two men, who weren't struggling against their bindings but were sitting in a resigned sort of way, Morris slipped the note out from underneath the wiper.

"What does it say?" Frank asked.

"It's a charge sheet," Morris replied, frowning. "Better get the Chief."

Slade closed the living room door behind him, and Holly immediately started to move around the room closing the shutters and making tweaks to the machine. For once, they had returned with several minutes to spare.

"You think Morris found the gifts we left him yet?" Slade asked, reclining on the sofa.

"He will soon enough," Holly replied, absently.

Slade still didn't understand what was going on, what had happened to so spectacularly transform Holly's mood. When it concerned the machine, Holly could be brittle and prickly, but this was different somehow.

Holly set the watch back into the machine and sat, arms folded, while the re-configuring of Time took place. Waves of light pulsated through the room and the abrupt jolting sound told Slade that the process was complete. It was confirmed by the fact that the handcuff bracelet had suddenly disappeared from his wrist, erased from this timeline. His head, too, was suddenly wound-free.

Slade propelled himself off the sofa.

"Look, is there something you want to talk about?" he asked, quietly. Every time he thought he was starting to understand how Holly's mind worked, she threw him another curve-ball. He used to pride himself on the fact that he could read women pretty well, but Holly had always been in a different league.

"No, thanks," came the cold response. "We should go into work early tomorrow. I hope you've got a story worked out."

Holly had not invited Slade to stay the night, as she might have in similar circumstances. Instead, she'd offered him a curt goodbye, and before he could open his mouth he found the front door closed in his face. For a moment he'd thought about ringing the bell again and refusing to leave until she told him what was bothering her, but the truth was that he was irritated, and he needed to concentrate on finding Tony.

Slade had spent the rest of the evening on the phone, calling as many old friends and ex-girlfriends of Tony's that he could bring to mind. Most of them had already spoken to his mum, and none of them could provide him with any leads. The most he got was an earful of abuse aimed at his brother from one particularly disgruntled ex.

When it got too late to ring people, he tried to sleep, but that wasn't easy either. Slade had seen too many murder victims to be able to relax about his missing brother; his over-active mind kept placing Tony in ever more horrific situations. Smuggling was big business, and Slade knew from stories he'd heard that those at the top didn't take kindly to wayward employees. He thought about all the occasions as a teenager and young man when he'd hauled Tony out of another sticky situation. Whether it was the time Tony got caught selling cigarettes in the schoolyard aged twelve, or the time he managed to steal the girlfriend of a local gang leader, Slade had always waded in. He didn't want their father to have to get involved, and he wanted to protect their mother. Slade had never talked to anyone about this – not even his wife - and now that he was clearly persona non grata with Holly, it didn't look like he ever would.

The next morning, Slade's cover story was in place. It was easy – he would feign total ignorance to Grisham, and make no mention of his brother at all. It wasn't much of a story, but it was all he had.

"It's never going to work," Holly told him as she parked her car at the station. "Grisham's not stupid."

"Relax, Holly," Slade replied. "Once she hears about the opportunity to bust a major smuggling ring, she's not going to care about the little details."

It turned out that he was more or less right, although it was clear that neither Grisham nor Morris were convinced when Slade denied being the author of the charge-sheet. Angelo and Lynton were being held in the cells, and Slade was quick to volunteer to get their statements, ensuring they couldn't drop his name into proceedings. He also arranged for Lynton to call his boss, watching the man while he assured Mitchell Brace that everything was under control and on schedule for that night.

While Slade was trying to keep a lid on things, the station was coming to life. Grisham was organising a sting operation to capture the perpetrators in the act, and Morris and another detective were sent to watch Mitchell Brace and ensure he didn't make any fast moves. Such was the level of activity that Slade barely had time to speak to Holly even if he'd wanted to. When he wasn't pre-occupied by their suspects, he was making yet more exploratory phone calls about Tony's whereabouts, careful to make sure he wasn't overheard. Occasionally, he glanced over to Holly's office, to see her on the phone or engaged in some forensics work - and most definitely avoiding him.

When it came to travelling to the site for the drop, Slade watched as Holly deliberately opted to ride in a different car to him. Instead, he rode along with Grisham and Nicky. He looked at his watch – nearly eight thirty. A few days ago, he had very different plans for this evening – trust Tony to get in the way of all that.

The tactical team took up their positions around the Quay, and Slade followed Grisham to a lookout point that usually housed dock security.

"Turner, you can come with us!" Grisham called, as Holly emerged from the car she'd been travelling in. "There's going to be some forensic evidence to be collected when this is all over."

Holly did as she was told, but Slade noticed she was doing her best to avoid eye contact with him. He dropped back from the others so they were walking in step.

"Good night's sleep didn't change your mood, then?" he said.

She fired him a look of contempt.

"We have a job to do, so let's get it over with," she replied.

"Fine. I just don't understand what your problem is."

As they entered the lookout with Grisham and Nicky, they were forced to speak in more hushed tones.

"I don't appreciate being dragged all over Greater London and beyond in the hunt for your deadbeat brother," Holly hissed. "We both could have been killed. As it was, I suppose we got off lightly with just been tied up and kidnapped."

"Well, I didn't think much of the way you hog the bed," he retorted in a whisper.

"Oh really? Well, at least _I_ don't _snore_!"

Grisham and Nicky both spun around in unison, and Slade saw Holly flush an attractive shade of scarlet. Grisham fixed them both with a warning stare, which Slade felt may come back to bite him later, while Nicky just looked faintly embarrassed at the whole outburst. Holly turned away and concentrated her eyes on the floor.

Just before nine o'clock, a boat was spotted out on the water, and the crew cut its engine in order to drift into the quay undetected. The tactical team moved in. Right on time, three unmarked vans cruised onto the dockside, and six men got out. The moment that the first consignment of stolen goods was exchanged, the police descended on them. Four of the men from the van were snatched straight away, another managed to lead officers on a foot-chase, while the sixth tried to help the contact on the boat throw the goods overboard.

Grisham got on her radio.

"Morris, what's Brace doing?"

There was a crackle on the airwaves.

"He's on the move, Chief, getting into his car."

"Keep on him. If those two hoodlums of his are right, he'll be on his way to a meeting point. Except he won't be meeting who he thinks he'll be meeting."

Slade had been scanning the scene of the unfolding drama for anything he or the rest of the team might have missed, and he was becoming anxious. He was counting on this rendezvous to find out what had happened to Tony, and he half dreaded that his brother might still be one of the pick-up men.

"Slade! Where are you going?" he heard Grisham yell, as he burst out of the back door of the lookout.

Down the steps and onto the concrete of the dock, he didn't know where to start. The six men who worked for Brace and the two men from the boat were spread-eagled against the side of a police van, hands spread in front of them. A quick scan confirmed that Tony was not among them – Slade didn't know whether to be relieved or more concerned. He dashed from one van to the next, checking in the back in case Tony might be tied up in there, but all three vans were empty. In the immediate vicinity there were a number of huts, shipping containers and sheds, and he made his way between them, searching for signs of life.

Eventually, Nicky caught up with him, evidently sent by Grisham to find out what he was doing. Holly was with Nicky, following at a distance and unable to completely hide her feelings of concern.

"Slade, what's going on?" Nicky asked, struggling to catch his breath. "Did you find anything?"

Slade saw Holly looking at him, expectantly. He shook his head.

"No."

Nicky frowned. "Did you think there might be others hiding? Or more stolen goods?"

Nicky was always keen to learn more about policing techniques, as though there was always a right answer to be found.

"Just a hunch," Slade replied, his own breath ragged. "I was wrong."

They began the walk back to the cars, Nicky clearly thrilled by the part he had played in the sting, and the satisfaction of seeing its successful conclusion.

For her part, Holly felt conflicted. The look on Slade's face told her that he was becoming increasingly fearful about his brother's fate, and yet he was trying hard to keep those feelings hidden from his colleagues. She, more than anyone, knew what it was like to keep a secret from people close to you. Her own anger at him seemed to shrink in significance – after all, there was a life at stake – but she still couldn't dismiss it altogether. It actually came as a relief to Holly when Grisham ordered her over to help catalogue some evidence, and she didn't have to try to think of a way to talk to Slade. Still, it was only delaying the inevitable.

It was almost midnight by the time they pulled up outside Slade's flat, and not a moment too soon. The journey had been conducted in virtual silence, and Holly wondered whether he felt quite as awful as she did. It seemed churlish to still be annoyed with him over something as petty as another woman's phone number, but didn't she have the right to feel that way? Hadn't everything that had happened pointed to their relationship reaching beyond just friendship? She was so out of practice, she conceded, that maybe she had misinterpreted what was going on.

"I'm sure your brother is fine," Holly heard herself saying, as Slade went to open the car door.

"Oh, you're speaking to me, are you?" he said, more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Holly sighed, swallowing the response she wanted to give.

"You said yourself that he's always getting into trouble," she said instead. "When the men arrested tonight start to talk, then maybe we'll get an answer."

"That's exactly what I was trying to avoid," Slade replied, grimly.

"You should get some sleep," Holly said. "We'll start again tomorrow."

Slade opened the car door, and was about to get out when something stopped him. Across the road from his flat, half shrouded in darkness, was a familiar-looking van. He froze.

"What?" Holly asked.

"There," Slade whispered. "That van. It's the same as the vans Mitchell Brace's men rolled up in tonight."

"You think someone's waiting for us?"

"Waiting for me, maybe."

In the light from the street lamp, Slade could have sworn he saw something move inside the van.

"Can you turn the car around?" he whispered. "If someone really is waiting for me, something tells me it isn't to give me flowers."

"What do you want to do?" Holly said, with a heavy sense of dread.

"Go round the other way. Give whoever it is a surprise."

Slowly, Holly reversed back up the street before turning into the lane that ran between the rows of buildings. Slade signalled for her to kill the engine before they got to the end of the lane, and from where they were they could just see the back of the van. Silently, Slade opened the car door and stepped out onto the street. He unclipped his holster and drew his gun. He then realised that Holly had got out of the car too.

"You should stay here," he told her.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Relax, Holly. If it all goes wrong, just drag me back to the machine and we'll try again."

Holly shot him a look to tell him just what she thought of his flippancy.

Slowly, they crept towards the parked van, keeping their heads low so that anyone in the driver's seat couldn't see them coming in the rear-view mirror. Slade stayed a few feet ahead, his arm outstretched by his side to indicate to Holly that she should keep back. He was almost crawling when he reached the back of the van, and he inched closer to the back window. Holding his breath, his gun poised, Slade stole a look through the glass and saw the figure of a man in the passenger seat, hunched low in his seat. It was impossible to tell how old or how big he was, but the fact that he was sitting in a parked van at midnight suggested that he was up to no good.

Slade ducked down again, and crept noiselessly around the passenger side of the van. He took a quick glance behind him; Holly was crouching behind a low wall, keeping out of harm's way where he wanted her. Bracing himself against the van, he slid to his feet. He took a deep breath, counted to three in his head and with a now-or-never resolve, grabbed the door handle.

Everything happened in a heartbeat. The second the door was open, Slade snatched the man inside the van, finding the front of his jacket. There was a struggle, and in the darkness Slade had no idea whether he was winning or losing. He succeeded in hauling the man out of the van and onto the road, and finally managed to level the gun at his head.

"Don't shoot!" the man begged.

At that moment, everything took on a very surreal bent for Slade.

"Tony?" he exclaimed.

The man finally had the courage to look up at him.

"Jeff? What's going on? What are you doing?"

Slade let his hand drop from his brother's coat.

"What am I doing? I thought you were waiting here to bump me off."

"What? Why would I do that?"

"I thought you were one of Mitchell Brace's men, that's why."

Tony Slade looked at his older brother, confused.

"You know Mitchell Brace?"

"Yeah, but I'm more concerned about the fact that you do. Where the hell have you been? Mum has been going out of her mind with worry; we've been looking for you for the past two days!"

"Who's 'we'?" Tony asked, frowning.

At that moment, Holly hesitantly stepped into the light.

"Slade?" she asked, cautiously.

Slade stepped back.

"Holly, meet my brother – Tony."

Inside the flat, Slade sat on the coffee table facing his brother, who slouched awkwardly on the sofa. In the light, it was clear to see that Tony had been in a recent skirmish, with a cut on his forehead and bruising to his cheek. Tony was nursing a glass of water, turning it around in his hands.

"So, I finally get to meet your missus," Tony said to Slade, smiling.

Holly felt the weight of embarrassment again, and avoided meeting Slade's eye.

"I'm sorry about all this," Tony told Holly. "Sorry that you got mixed up in it all."

"What happened?" Slade demanded, trying to turn his brother's attention to more comfortable – and pertinent – subjects. "Last thing I heard you'd started your own courier business."

"That's my van outside," Tony replied. "It's all I've got left. Couldn't get the business, couldn't match the big companies. Then I met this bloke in the pub, Gavin something, and we got talking and he told me how I could start pulling in some real money."

"Some real dirty money, you mean."

"I didn't know it was dirty at first," Tony said, clearly injured by the suggestion.

"A man approaches you in a pub and asks you if you want to make a quick buck – you don't think that's dodgy at all?"

"By the time I realised what was going on, it was too late. I told Brace that I wanted out, swore I wouldn't grass, too, but it wasn't as easy as that. He sent two blokes round to my flat – I saw them in time and just managed to get out of there. Haven't been back since."

Slade sighed. "So where have you been for the past two days?"

"In my van. Moving around, you know, to keep a low profile."

"Why didn't you call me? Or at least let Mum know you were okay?"

Tony looked at his knees. "I didn't want you to find out. Certainly didn't want Dad to know. I knew you'd want to bail me out, and I didn't want that. Thought if I disappeared for a while it would all blow over."

"Bury your head in the sand, you mean?" Slade said, exasperation in his voice.

Holly stepped forward, feeling the palpable tension between the two men.

"Tony, let me get something for that cut," she said. "Looks like it could be infected."

The two men watched her leave the room, and Tony leaned in closer to Slade, nudging his older brother's knee with the back of his hand.

"Hey, she's terrific, Jeff. What's she doing with you?"

"Shut up," Slade replied, feeling the burn of a touchy subject. "What made you set up camp outside my flat? What were you planning to do?"  
>"I don't know," Tony shrugged. "I was trying to think of a way to tell you about all this, I suppose."<p>

"Well, too late."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Mitchell Brace and his charming associates are going to be spending their first night behind bars tonight. It's over."

Holly returned to the room with a bottle of antiseptic, cotton wool and some medical tape. Slade watched with a slight twinge of envy as she fashioned some butterfly stitches from the tape and went to work on his brother.

"So you're a doctor, Holly?" Tony asked, playing the good patient.

"No, I'm a physicist. I did two years of a medicine degree, though, before switching. Learned enough to fix up a minor head wound, anyway."

Slade was surprised – this was something he hadn't known about Holly. And she criticised him for keeping things from _her_.

"Hang on," Tony said. "You said before that Mum came to see you last night. So you managed to pull this whole case together, all the evidence against Brace, in less than twenty-four hours?"

Slade opened his mouth in the hope that something plausible would come out. Instead, he heard Holly's voice.

"He's a great detective," she told Tony, careful to keep her gaze away from Slade.

Slade offered Tony a bed for the night, and the young man disappeared upstairs almost straight away, leaving Holly alone with Slade, a scenario Holly had been hoping to avoid. It was after one o'clock in the morning, and normally Holly knew she would probably stay over, but given the circumstances it no longer seemed appropriate.

Holly had had no choice but to let go of some of her ire towards Slade – she had been starting to hate herself for being so petty. To avoid going crazy, all she could do in this situation was be philosophical and magnanimous. After all, Slade hadn't made any promises to her, and vice versa. As soon as the bedroom door closed behind Tony, Holly picked up her jacket and started to head for the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, breaking the silence.

"Holly, wait," Slade called.

Before he could say any more, she continued.

"I'm pleased you found him," she said. "Your mum will be so relieved, too. And you put a major criminal enterprise out of business – not bad for a couple of days' work."

Holly opened the front door.

"Holly- " Slade said again, floundering for the words. By the time he'd thought of something, they had been interrupted.

"Hey, Jeff!" Tony called from the walkway above the living room. "Got any spare pillows?"

He then spotted Holly standing there.

"Oops, sorry," he said, sheepishly. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Don't worry. I was just leaving anyway," Holly told him. She turned to Slade. "See you at the office."

Slade spent most of the morning evading questions about the Mitchell Brace case; disbelieving ones from Grisham, suspicious ones from Morris and eagerly inquisitive ones from Nicky. So far, his brother's name had not surfaced in investigations, and with any luck it would remain that way. Still, he had decided, if Angelo or Lynton mentioned his brother, he knew Tony would – and probably should – face the consequences of his stupidity. He had left Tony eating Cornflakes in the living room of his flat, and making a phone call to their mother. Slade made Tony promise to go directly to their mother's house once he'd finished his breakfast.

By the time Slade arrived at work, on time for once, Holly was already holed up in her office hard at work. Most of the evidence from the case had been sent to Central Labs, but Holly had her fair share to do as well, and officers working on other cases had been warned not to bother her with additional work. Slade checked every so often in case she was looking in his direction, but she never was. He was no closer to working out what was going on – had Holly been scared away by what his mother had implied?

He decided he would check that Tony had kept his word. Picking up the phone, he was about to dial his mum's number when he heard Frank's voice calling his name.

"Detective Slade? You've got a visitor."

He swivelled around to see his mum standing beside Frank.

"Mum?"

He got up to go to her.

"Forget your packed lunch, Slade?" Morris asked, with a snigger.

"Shut up, Morris," he replied, flatly.

He drew his mum away from the hubbub of the office. One thing was clear from the outset – she was much happier than she had been two days ago, so Tony must have done the right thing.

"Is Holly here, too?" Sandra Slade asked, looking about the room.

"She's in her office, but we shouldn't disturb her, Mum. She's got a lot of work on at the moment."

"I wanted to speak to her, just for a moment," she replied. "Well, both of you, actually. It won't take long, Jeffrey."

Reluctantly, Slade led the way to Holly's office and knocked tentatively on the door. He heard Holly's reply, and he allowed his mum to go ahead of him.

"Holly?"

"Mrs Slade," Holly said, before correcting herself with a smile. "Sandra. Nice to see you again."

"You, too. I wanted to come and see you both in person to thank you for everything you did to help Anthony."

"He spoke to you, then?" Slade said.

"He's at home, and your dad's come over to be with him," Sandra confirmed. "He told us some of what went on, and I'm hoping he'll tell us the rest when he feels ready. But it's just so good to have him home, to know he's safe, so I can't tell you how grateful I am."

"It's nothing, Mum," Slade said, taking his mother's hand. "Tony's family. I was glad to be able to help."

"Holly, I really appreciate you getting involved as well," Sandra said, with a smile. "I just wish my youngest was as well-behaved as my oldest."

Holly caught Slade's eye and saw, with slight amusement, a beatific expression on his face.

"You'll know how it feels when you have children of your own," Sandra added.

This time, the brief glance exchanged between Holly and Slade was one of discomfort.

"I'm pleased it all worked out for the best," Holly replied, tactfully.

"Well!" Sandra said, brightly. "I know you're both busy, so I'll leave you to it. When everything's settled down, we'll have to have you both round for a celebratory dinner."

Slade dearly hoped that his mother was planning to celebrate Tony's safe return, rather than anything relating to he and Holly.

"I'll show you out, Mum," Slade said, opening the door.

"Nonsense," Sandra replied. "I know it's been a few years since I worked here, but I can still find my way. I'll see you two soon."

Watching his mother leave the office, Slade was torn between following her and staying. The conversation had to happen at some point, but if he pushed Holly any further away he might never get her back.

"Listen, Holly," he began.

"I have a lot to get through this morning," she quickly replied, returning to the equipment on her workbench.

"It's going to have to wait, because I'm not leaving until we sort this thing out."

Holly turned around and folded her arms, listening.

"I feel bad about all that stuff…Two days ago" - he paused, trying to confirm in his mind that he was calculating the days correctly – "Two days ago, before my mum turned up -"

"Forget it, Slade," Holly said quickly. "I'm…I'm happy for you. I mean, I want you to be happy, so…"

When she looked up at him, the look on Slade's face was one of complete confusion. Was he really going to make her spell it out?

"Holly, you're going to have to help me out here. Why are you happy for me exactly?"

Holly had always been terrible at conversations like this – not that there had been that many. She started to remember why the only company she had kept for several years was her own.

"Francesca," she said finally. "I know about Francesca, and, well, I want you to know that I'm fine with it."

The expression on Slade's face didn't change.

"Who's Francesca?" he said.

Holly went to her jacket hanging up on the peg, and dug into the pocket. She drew out a piece of paper.

"You dropped this…while we were time-travelling," she said, handing it to him. "I shouldn't have kept it, it was none of my business."

She watched him unfold the piece of paper and saw the look on his face changed over the course of a few seconds. Then, to her bafflement, he started to laugh.

"Holly," he said, carefully. "The note says Francesco, not Francesca."

He held the note out to her, and she took it, reading it again.

"And Francesco's not a person, it's a restaurant."

"But I don't…" she began, already feeling the creep of embarrassment.

"Yesterday was the twenty-third of April. A year ago yesterday, I almost got fired over a case, and a year ago yesterday you saved me. You and the machine."

Slade moved closer to her.

"It was our anniversary, Holly," he continued, his voice much softer.

"The restaurant…?"

"A surprise dinner. Remember we went there after the Lombard case, ordered cheese soufflé, and I took a hit in the wallet?" he smiled. "Unfortunately, the only way we can still make the reservation now is to travel back...ooh…twelve hours."

Holly didn't know what to say, such was the squall of emotions she was feeling. She immediately felt terrible for the way she had behaved, determined to think the worst of Slade and at the same time displaying the kind of petty jealousy that only demeaned her. Not only had Slade remembered the day on which they first time-travelled together, but it meant something to him, and he wanted to commemorate it.

"Slade, I don't know what to say," she finally admitted. "I made a mistake."

"You could have just asked," he replied.

"I know."

"You didn't really think I had another woman stashed away somewhere, did you?" Slade said. He moved to sit on the bench beside her. Holly felt her heart begin to gather pace, just as it had the previous evening.

"No," she replied, defensively. "Yes! Oh, I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Well, maybe I should have told you how much I missed you while you were away," he said, leaning in, a smile playing in the corners of his lips.

Holly managed a small smile, too. "Maybe you should have."

"Then maybe you could have told me how much you missed me."

"Maybe."

She had barely realised it, but Slade's face was now only inches from hers. "You know, my mum interrupted us that night," he whispered.

"We never did get to have dessert," Holly replied in a whisper equal to his.

Slade leaned in, and Holly felt the rasp of his breath before he finally closed the space between them and their lips met. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, while they navigated around this new experience, before becoming more confident and purposeful. Slade felt Holly's fingers working their way around his collar, a million thoughts pin-balling through his head. One thing was for sure though, on the many occasions he'd thought about this moment, none of them involved a busy office and Morris sitting only a few feet away. Grisham's suspicions had already been aroused by the snoring comment the previous evening, and being caught _in flagrante_ was the last thing they needed.

"I was wondering," he said, breaking the kiss.

"Yes?" Holly asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Now that we've got my brother out of trouble…"

"What?"

Slade circled his arms around her waist.

"Maybe we could get into some trouble of our own tonight."

It was with some satisfaction that he saw Holly blush, but she soon recovered her posture.

"Providing this trouble doesn't involve kidnap, pistol-whipping, brawls or handcuffs, I think there's a good chance."

"No handcuffs?" Slade quipped. "Well, there's one fantasy out the window."

"Keep it up, Slade, and I'll change my mind about the pistol-whipping, too."

THE END


End file.
